


I See My Future in You

by forestfantail



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era AU, But also a Future Fic, F/M, Friends to Lovers, just go with it, solving a mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestfantail/pseuds/forestfantail
Summary: A strange device that can see into the future brings up many questions for best friends and colleagues Fitz and Simmons. Why is Future Fitz such a badass, and who is the mysterious woman he is dating? Who is trying to kill them? And most importantly, how will they survive their future if it tears them apart?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't judge my timeline here. It's all a little wibbly wobbly. I've never been clear on hold old they were at the Academy or when they graduated or what they did just after, so I'm smooshing it all together.

“Hold still!” said Simmons. She poked Fitz in the elbow with what appeared to be a small panda bear on a stick.

“It hurts!”

“Well if you hadn’t broken the other applicator.”

“That one hurt as well!” Fitz jerked his elbow out of her grasp again. It was involuntary, not just from the dread of the thing, he would swear to it.

“Yes, well, that one was a lower dose, so this one will sting even more. Oh, for goodness sake, Fitz!” She gripped his elbow with her hand and attacked him with the panda. She had frighteningly strong hands, for someone so small.

“There,” she said. She wiped the edges of his elbow with a bit of gauze and finally put down the monstrous bear.

“What the hell is that thing?” Fitz asked. He held his arm protectively against his chest, eyeing the torture device grinning adorably at him from the metal lab table.

“It’s from the new burn kit they’re testing in Medical. Supposed to heal twice as fast as the previous ones.”

“But why is it a woodland creature? I’ll never look at eucalyptus the same again.”

Simmons rolled her eyes, which was normally one of Fitz’s favorite things to see her do. Classic Simmons, more bossy than Hermione Grainger. He didn’t find her annoyance as charming as usual, though, after dodging her terrifying ministrations for the last few minutes.

“Bamboo,” she said.

“God bless you,” said Fitz.

“Pandas eat bamboo, not eucalyptus,” said Simmons. She was gently bandaging his elbow now. Her hands could be surprisingly soft, as well as strong.

“I knew that,” said Fitz, although he was finding her hands a bit too distracting to argue.

“You broke the applicator for adults,” she said, “so I grabbed this prototype for the children’s kit. I don’t think the dosage has been fully tested yet.”

Fitz frowned down at the glistening bear. “Why would we need one for children? We don’t have child agents.”

“But sometimes our agents save children, Fitz. And sometimes those children get injured.”

Fitz shivered and not from the cooling agent he could feel radiating from the medicine on his arm. He didn’t like the idea of children being burned. He thought back to his own childhood, full of injuries and wounds that felt like they would never heal. The number of times he had looked at his shoes and told his mum or his teacher or the school nurse “I fell.” Between his father for whom he was never enough and the older boys who bullied him for being smarter than them…it had always been a lie.

Not for the first or the hundredth time, he was proud of his decision to join S.H.I.E.L.D. To protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. Like the boy he had once been. Or his mum. And he could carry out that noble mission all while being safely ensconced with Simmons in a non-mobile lab for the rest of his life.

He sighed contentedly as Simmons put the finishing touches on his bandage. “Feeling better?” she asked.

“Mmmm,” he said. “It barely hurts at all now. What’s in this stuff?”

“Not sure, but it’s clearly got a lot of painkillers in. You might want to lie down for a bit, Fitz.”

Fitz shrugged but then winced as this jiggled his elbow. “Naw. Got Dr. Dellenbaugh’s lecture soon.” He yawned.

Simmons was cleaning up her medical supplies. Good old Simmons. Always helpful in a pinch.

“Thanks,” said Fitz.

Simmons turned to him and smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright. Although now perhaps you’ll remember what I said about leaving exploding pens lying around.”

“I told you; it wasn’t mine. I don’t know where it came from.”

Simmons raised an eyebrow and removed her lab coat. “Come along. We’re late enough as it is.”

Fitz looked at the black mark on the table left by the small fireball that had almost taken his arm off. Simmons was right of course: the pen was his. He could have sworn he had locked it away, though.

“Fitz?”

Fitz jumped off his stool and followed after her, as he always did.

 

 

 

Dr. Dellenbaugh’s lecture had already begun as they arrived. The walls at the back of the lecture hall were lined with cadets, as were the aisleways. This was a highly anticipated lecture, as Dr. Dellenbaugh, generally regarded as an eccentric recluse, had declared that he was going to reveal a project he had been working on for the last ten years. The man was brilliant but also smelled of cat urine. Today his hair was sticking flat to his head on one side and straight up on the other, as though it couldn’t make up its mind. There was an ongoing debate and more than a few wagers among the students on whether his idea would be the work of genius or madness.

“And so I would like to announce, that I have invented time travel,” said Dr. Dellenbaugh.

“So, it’s a bit of both,” whispered Fitz into Simmons’ ear. Either she didn’t hear him or she was too busy squeezing past Young and Shah to respond.

“There’s a spot by the fire exit, at the end of the row,” was all she whispered back.

There had been many gasps and whispers throughout the packed crowd, and now Dr. Dellenbaugh was struggling to speak over them.

“Well, it’s not exactly time _travel._ It’s more like time _vision_. A window into the future. Imagine, being able to see what will happen, how your life will unfold. But you no longer need to imagine. I can show you right now.”

He glanced around the room. “Could I have a volunteer?” There were no whispers now. The room was so silent you could have heard an exploding pen drop. Except for a heated argument of hissing coming from the very back of the room.

“…hurt, Simmons!”

“I told you to move!”

“I only have one working elbow left, woman, and now you’re trying to get at that one, too!”

Dr. Dellenbaugh’s face broke into a crooked grin. “Dr. Fitz, if you’d be so kind.”

Every face in the hall turned to look up at Fitz and Simmons, who were crushed together in the farthest corner of the room.

“I’m sorry, sir?” said Fitz. He had no idea what was happening, but he could feel his face beginning to flush.

“It’s quite all right, my boy.” There were a few titterings around the room at that. Dr. Dellenbaugh had always for some reason been fond of Fitz, and the young cadet had spent a few not completely intolerable afternoons crammed into the professor’s cave-like office, discussing the works of great physicists of the past. Despite Fitz’s soft spot for the man, he bristled at being called “boy.” No one in this room needed a reminder that he was still the youngest one here, even in his third year. Well, youngest except for Simmons, of course.

“Get down there,” she said, giving him a light shove.

“What?” he asked.

“Just go!”

Fitz began to make his way back through the tight group of students, all of whom were now staring at him with a mixture of apprehension and jealousy. Dr. Dellenbaugh resumed his lecture.

“It is this device that has been my greatest achievement. My life’s work.” He held up what looked like a red beer helmet, without any beer. The tubes that would have funneled alcohol into one’s mouth were instead attached to the back of a black box the size of a microwave. In fact, as Fitz came down the stairs he could see that it was a microwave, just like the one that used to be in the professors’ break room. What had he gotten himself into now?

“Sit here, Dr. Fitz.” Dellenbaugh pulled a chair up beside the table on which the box sat and gestured for Fitz to sit down. The professor held up the beer hat as though it were a large trophy. “Now we will see what the future holds.”

Fitz glanced up from his seat at Simmons, who had an anxious look on her face. Surely, if this contraption blew him up, she could just grab another panda and sort him out. Right?

Dr. Dellenbaugh placed the helmet gingerly on Fitz’s head. “You may feel a tingling sensation,” he said.

“Where?” asked Fitz.

“Everywhere,” said Dr. Dellenbaugh. He pressed start on the microwave, and Fitz’s vision went black.


	2. Chapter 2

A sleek black limousine pulled to a stop in front of a multi-story building made almost entirely of reflective black glass. The driver leapt out and walked around to open one of the rear limousine doors. A young man in an expensive and well-fitted blue suit stepped from the vehicle. He ran his hand through his trim brown hair, buttoned his suit jacket, and reached for the briefcase that his driver handed him. The driver started to speak, but the man waved his hand at the man as though dismissing him.

“Wait, for me,” he said and turned with a purposeful gaze toward the building, which many other suited men and women were entering and exiting.

“Very good, sir,” said the driver.

The man strode through the building’s front doors, his shined shoes glinting in the afternoon sun. When he walked into the spacious and busy atrium he removed his sunglasses, revealing piercing blue eyes. He turned those eyes toward the security checkpoint in front of the elevators. A young security guard gulped and whispered to her colleague, “It’s him.”

The man in the suit walked up to her and handed her his briefcase, an expression of disdain on his face. “Sir,” she squeaked, taking his bag.

“Doctor,” he said.

“Yes, sir, doctor, sir.”

The tall security guard beside her tried to refrain from rolling his eyes but failed. “Here on business, doctor?”

The doctor turned his cold eyes to the guard, who, despite his constant dealings with the building’s elite clientele, felt himself disquieted to be looking the man in the eye. This doctor was not a man to be messed with, the guard could sense that.

“The same as usual,” said the doctor. He reached for his briefcase, which the female guard had waved a wand over, though she hadn’t taken her eyes off him once. He nodded at her and then made to move through the security gate.

“Hold on,” the male guard said.

The doctor turned to him slowly, narrowing his eyes.

“I need to do the pat down.” The guard reached out his arms as though to touch the doctor, who took a step back.

“What are you doing?” the doctor asked, his voice quiet and full of menace.

The guard was not usually intimidated by the rich a-holes who came in here, but he found himself putting down his hands. “It’s protocol,” he said.

The doctor held the lapel of his suit up for the guard to see. “Do you see this? Five thousand dollars, hand-tailored and designed for me. Worth more than you make in a month. You are not going to put your hands anywhere near it.”

Speechless, the guard nodded. The doctor turned and walked to the elevators.

“Have a good day, sir! Doctor!” called the female guard.

“I can’t believe you,” said the male guard.

“What?” she said. “He’s hot.”

A large man with skin the color of hot cocoa wearing the work clothes and cap of the building’s maintenance company stepped up to the security table. He handed the male guard his toolbox. “Plumbing’s busted on the 12th floor,” he said.

“Better you than me,” said the guard. He absentmindedly waved his wand over the toolbox before returning it and waving the repairman through. He kept his eyes on the doctor in his blue suit, who was now waiting for an elevator. Some men had everything, didn’t they?

The repairman and the doctor stepped on to the same elevator, standing on opposite sides. The guard couldn’t imagine two people who were more different. He chuckled as the doors closed. That would be an awkward ride.

 

 

 As the doors closed, the doctor and the repairman both reached for the floor buttons. They paused, looking at each other.

“After you,” said the repairman. The doctor nodded and reached forward to press a button.

The men stood in silence for a while, before the repairman spoke.

“Five thousand dollars? Do they make suits that expensive?”

“I don’t know how much an expensive suit costs,” said the doctor, sounding a little defensive. “Anyway, we did get it tailored.” He picked a piece of lint from the sleeve. “I’ve been told it looks nice.”

“That little security guard seemed to think so,” said the repairman, giving the doctor a teasing grin.

The doctor now wiggled in his suit as though he was uncomfortable. “It’s not her I’m looking to impress,” he mumbled.

“Got a date after this?” asked the repairman.

“Yeah,” said the doctor, sounding pleased with himself. “We’re going to spend the entire evening o _utside the base_.”

“Whoa, Turbo. Don’t overdo it with the romance.” He was grinning, but the doctor glared at him.

“At least I have a date,” he said. “How are things going with Yo-Yo?”

It was now apparently the repairman’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Let’s just focus on the mission, all right, Fitz?”

Fitz grinned. “If you don’t want to talk about it.” He shrugged. “I’m all business, Mack.”

“Then let’s do this.” Mack pulled a small device out of his toolbox and placed it on a panel above the floor buttons. The device clicked, and the panel swung open, revealing a row of numbers. Mack moved aside, and Fitz pressed several of the buttons. The elevator began to climb faster and then stopped with a sudden jolt.

Fitz and Mack stood side by side facing the closed doorway. In unison, they reached under their jackets to retrieve invisible objects, both of which materialized in their hands as hand guns.

“I still don’t know why you couldn’t cloak my shotgun-axe,” said Mack.

“We’re trying for stealth, Mack. If you think you could carry that down your pants with no one being the wiser...”

Mack raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you couldn’t...” he said under his breath.

Fitz cleared his throat. “You ready?”

Mack nodded, his gun pointed at the doors. Fitz pressed a button and the doors slowly slid open, revealing a view of a gray wall. Mack inched forward into the hallway with his gun aimed ahead, Fitz close behind him, holding both their cases, his gun on his hip. Mack looked in both directions and motioned to Fitz to follow. They walked silently down hallways one after the other, without running into a single person.

“It seem a little too quiet to you?” Mack whispered.

“Sad you haven’t shot anyone yet?”

“I’m just saying—”

“They only appear to use the lab at night. Hopefully no one will come. Unless we trip an alarm.”

Mack turned a corner onto another gray hallway. At the end of the hall was a door with a brass plate that read “Room of Darkness.”

Mack turned to Fitz. “No. No, I am not going into anything called the _Room of Darkness_.”

Fitz gave an exasperated sigh and walked ahead of him. “It’s obviously meant to intimidate us.”

“Well it’s working,” said Mack. He said some sort of prayer under his breath, while Fitz attached another small device from Mack’s toolbox to the door’s lock. Both men turned their backs to the door. There was a puff of an explosion, and the door popped open. They paused for a moment, as though waiting for an alarm to sound or screams from inside the room. When nothing happened, Fitz took the lead through the doorway, holding his gun before him.

Fitz scanned the room, which was about the size of a regular lab, and then put down his weapon. “No one,” he said.

Mack had followed him tentatively into the room. The walls were covered in flashing lights and electronic panels, with various scientific equipment strewn about on stainless steel tables. Mack exhaled. “Ok, fine. This I can work with.”

“Spooky dark room?” asked Fitz, who was already opening his brief case, which appeared to contain a compact laptop with several odd attachments.

“Man, if it had said the ‘Clowns With Knives Room’ you would have run away screaming.”

Fitz paused while plugging his briefcase into a wall panel. “I never should have told you that,” he said.

Mack had taken back his toolbox and was pulling out various hi-tech tools that did not look like they belonged in a plumber’s bag. He walked to a large locked box and began trying to get it open with what looked like Dr. Who’s sonic screwdriver.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

Fitz had his head almost all the way inside the wall panel, which he had removed. “What?”

“Me and Yo-Yo,” he said. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Fitz snorted. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Mack pulled an object that looked like a lobster-sized metal cockroach from the box. He put it in his toolbox.

“And I’m saying, I don’t need your advice on how to date.”

Fitz replaced the wall panel and plugged his briefcase computer back into it. He began typing.

“We are totally fine,” Mack said. “We’re just moving slowly since—everything. Taking our time.”

Fitz scratched the side of his face and tilted his head to the side, staring at the computer screen. Sudden inspiration struck him, and he went back to typing. Multiple green lights began throbbing on the wall panel.

“I do not need your advice. I know exactly what I am doing.” Mack pulled another giant cockroach out of the box, frowned at it, and then put it in his bag. He swallowed and looked over at Fitz.

“But if you did know of a restaurant or something, you know, some place nice that—”

The wall panel that Fitz was connected to began flashing red lights. Suddenly all the wall panels were flashing red, and a slow, dull honking came from a speaker overhead.

Mack looked around a little panicky, but Fitz unplugged his briefcase from the wall and said “perfect timing.” He looked over at Mack. “You done?” he asked.

Mack held up his toolbox full of cockroaches and his gun. “Ready as ever.”

Fitz walked over to the door and peered out. A bullet whizzed past his head. “That was fast.” He took several shots in the direction of the bullet, then ducked back into the room. “I got one, but there’s another.”

“What’s next, Turbo?”

“The door on the other side,” said Fitz, over the sounds of gunfire. He was trying to brace the door with a nearby table.

Mack ran to the other side of the room and flung open the only door he saw. It was a completely empty closet. He patted the walls and looked back frantically at Fitz. “Nothing in here, buddy.”

Fitz ran over, grabbing his briefcase and tucking his gun at his waist on the way. He kneeled and pulled out the flooring of the closet. Below it was a gaping black hole.

Mack looked at Fitz like he didn’t recognize him. “What is that?”

“Our way out.” Fitz pulled a rope and two harnesses out of Mack’s toolbox and started to put one on.

“Have you actually lost your mind?” Mack said.

“Several times,” said Fitz.

Mack took the harness from Fitz and stared at it. “Dark. Why’s it always got to be dark?”

Several bullets hit the door, and someone slammed into it. With a shake of his head, Mack began putting on the harness. “I keep saying I’m going to retire, but no. I get sucked back in by you fools.”

Fitz finished attaching one end of the rope to a metal pole that stood in the corner of the room. He came over to Mack and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s what best friends are for—” Fitz was cut off by a bullet blasting through the doorway. He clutched at his arm. “Damn!”

Mack grabbed him and looked at Fitz’s bleeding arm. “Turbo, you all right?”

Fitz frowned and poked the hole in his suit sleeve. “Yeah, it’s just a graze. But I ruined my suit.” He stared at the blood. “She really liked this suit.”

Mack pulled Fitz over to the closet and attached both of their harnesses to the rope. He was trying to shield Fitz from more gunfire, but the bullets were coming faster and someone was steadily pushing the door open.

Mack and Fitz both looked down into the black hole. They looked back at each other.

“Seriously?” said Fitz. “I just got shot!”

“Fine,” said Mack. He grimaced and took a dive into the darkness. “But you better give me some damn good dating advice after this,” he called as he fell.

Fitz took another glance at the door, which was wide open now. Just as the man standing there raised his gun, Fitz dropped out of sight.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Fitz? Fitz!” It was Simmons’ voice. She sounded more angry than concerned, although he was pretty sure that she was the one stroking his hair back from his face. At least he hoped that was her.

“It’s been several hours, and I really need you to wake up now. Fitz?”

He shook his head, still not having opened his eyes. His eyelids seemed very heavy, and his mouth felt like it had been glued shut. “Mmmrmnuir,” he said.

“Can you hear me?” she asked. Suddenly he felt something poke his injured elbow.

“Bloody hell!” he belted out, his jaw feeling like a door creaky with lack of use. His eyelids snapped open, and he saw Simmons’ warm brown eyes. “What did you do that for?”

She was indeed leaning over him to brush his hair back from his face, her eyes so close to his that it was difficult to look anywhere but into them. “Pain response. I needed to ascertain your level of consciousness.”

“I’m fully conscious,” Fitz huffed. He moved his tongue around his still slightly numb mouth. “Now I am. I suppose I was asleep.”

Simmons said nothing but gazed at him like he was a biological specimen she was inspecting. “You’ve been unconscious for three hours,” she said.

“Really?” Fitz was not sure why she seemed to think this was interesting information.

“So, I’ve been napping?” He frowned. “And you’ve been watching me the entire time? I knew you were obsessed with me, Simmons, but this is taking it too far.”

Simmons flushed, he assumed with anger. It was a pleasant look on her.

“I am not ‘obsessed’ with you, nor have you been sleeping. You have been unconscious since Dr. Dellenbaugh put that contraption on your head.”

Fitz bolted upright in his bed, but he immediately laid back down, his head swimming. “I…what?”

Simmons somehow looked sympathetic and furious at the same time. He hoped both emotions weren’t for him. He wanted just the sympathy. Simmons was often good to him when he was ill.

“He put that ridiculous thing on your head, and you stopped moving, sitting there with your eyes open like a statue. When the vision ended you just collapsed. Dellenbaugh caught you, but a group of students had to carry you back here. He said the effects would wear off in a few hours, said you’d be fine. Seemed bloated with pride, that fool of a man…”

Simmons gave a huffy little sigh. She was angry with Dr. Dellenbaugh, not him. Excellent.

“I guess I’m all right,” said Fitz. He waved his hand in the general direction of his head. “Although I do feel a bit fuzzy.”

Simmons nodded. “That could be from the painkillers you had as well.” She stroked his cheek this time, peering intensely into his eyes. “You’ve had a day,” she said.

She pulled back and folded her hands in her lap. Fitz assumed that nearness and touching were over. With his clouded mind it was difficult for him to deny his disappointment.

“So,” he said, trying to gather his thoughts, “he put that beer hat on me and all it did was make me unconscious? Why was he proud of that?”

“No,” said Simmons, “something else happened as well. Before you fell out of the chair.”

“What?”

Simmons gazed at the floor. “We saw…something?”

“Something?” Fitz was starting to feel something himself—a nervous roiling in his stomach. “What something?”

“We saw…” Simmons paused and glanced at him. “It was like the microwave—I’m pretty sure that’s what it was—projected a film on the screen behind it.”

“What film?” asked Fitz. He felt he knew the answer, but he was hopeful he was wrong.

“It was…” again Simmons paused. “It was you. Only, it wasn’t you. You were wearing a blue suit—"

“And I got out of a limousine?” Fitz asked.

Simmons nodded. “And you walked into a building and there was this female security guard.” Simmons had an indecipherable expression on her face, but Fitz could at least tell that she wasn’t happy. Neither was he.

“You saw that?” He couldn’t believe this. “Everyone saw it?”

“Of course. The whole academy was there.”

Fitz’s mouth felt like it wasn’t working again. “But,” he said slowly, “did you see _everything_?”

“The last thing we saw was you leaping into a hole while a man pointed a gun at you.” Simmons shivered. “It was quite suspenseful. And then you collapsed, and the vision stopped.”

Fitz was dumbfounded. “I saw the same thing, in my head. It was like I was watching me, not like I was me. Not that that was me.” He looked at Simmons for answers. “Was it? Was that my future?”

Simmons opened her mouth and closed it a few times before she seemed to know what to say. He was so unused to seeing her speechless that this perhaps was the most upsetting thing so far. “I don’t know, Fitz. I don’t know what we saw. The man looked like you, but he was…different. We have no way of knowing what Dellenbaugh’s machine actually does, and certainly no way of knowing if that is your future.”

Fitz closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He needed to calm down. His brain still felt like a clogged mess, and this crazy nonsense was too much for him.

Seeming to sense his mood, as Simmons always could, she stood from the chair she had apparently put beside his bed. “You should rest,” she said. “You probably need to sleep off those painkillers, not to mention recover from the ordeal Dellenbaugh has put you through. I’ll come check on you in the morning.”

She stopped by the door and wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, which Fitz found to be odd. She seemed uncomfortable with him, but he wasn’t capable of contemplating why right now. He could just tell something was off. And things were never off with Fitz and Simmons.

“I left you some water and your phone by your bedside. If you need something text me.” She was fiddling with the door handle.

“Thanks,” he said. She nodded once and then left without another word.

Fitz fell asleep quickly, the image of her downcast expression imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

 

 

By the next morning Fitz’s mind felt clear and his elbow slightly healed. His dignity seemed to be the most injured part of him, and the more of his fellow cadets he interacted with, the more certain he was that it may never recover.

His first odd interaction was with Patrick Woo, who asked him if he could cloak a dagger for him while Fitz waited in the café line for his morning scone.

“Do what?”

“Cloak my dagger.” The cadet held up a slim silver knife. “Like ‘cloak and dagger.’ Only it’s an actual _dagger_.”

Fitz said nothing.

“With your cloaking tech.”

Realization dawned on Fitz. “That was in the thing, the vision. I don’t actually know how to make things invisible,” he said.

Woo waved his knife excitedly in the air. “But you will, in the future. And I want dibs on the first cloaked dagger. I might even copyright it!”

Fitz decided he wasn’t very hungry after all and wandered out of the line, leaving Woo still waving his knife around and chatting up other wary-looking cadets.

As Fitz passed Neveah Watts at a table nearby, he heard her wolf whistle. “Looking good today, Fitz.” She made a great show of checking out his bum, and her gaggle of friends laughed. “I prefer the suit, though.”

Fitz could feel his cheeks turning crimson, and he fled from the small academy café.

The day continued much this way, with people pestering him about his future tech, espionage skills, or attractive bum and occasionally making very lewd comments. Everyone stared at him wherever he went, which he detested. He was surprised to find, however, that almost all of them were impressed by his future self.

“It’s the confidence,” said Rajesh Shah.

“Uh-huh,” said Fitz, who was wearing safety goggles while trying to pour a test tube of steaming liquid into a beaker.

“You just seemed so hardcore, like you’d really been there, you know?”

“Right,” said Fitz. He rubbed a drop of sweat from his forehead with the back of a gloved hand and carefully placed his beaker back on the counter.

“I wish I could get some of that dating advice.” Shah looked off wistfully into the distance. “You could just tell you’re actually getting laid. What’s your secret?”

Fitz took off his goggles and looked Shah straight in the eye. “Doing my lab work instead of jabbering on about nothing.”

Shah nodded and said with absolutely no irony, “Yeah man, that makes so much _sense_. Thanks.” He continued to not do his half of the assigned lab work, and instead gazed thoughtfully over at the lovely Sally Sardoniwicz, as he usually did during their lab sessions.

_At least he’s not talking any more,_ thought Fitz.

By the time Fitz got to the Boiler Room that evening he was exhausted. He had been fending off new best friends and potential love interests all day, and the tension in him was mounting. He needed a pint and his favorite friend to complain to. As she had said she would be, Simmons was at their usual spot at the bar, chatting with Leslie Custer, their preferred bartender.

“Fitz!” said Leslie, which made Fitz shrink into himself a bit. He was a little afraid of Leslie, truth be told. “I saw you all James Bond the other day. Smokin’ hot.” Fitz tried to smile but wasn’t sure he completed the gesture. He gave a panicked look to Simmons, but she seemed absorbed by the liquid swirling in her glass.

Leslie handed Fitz a pint of his favorite beer without asking what he wanted. This—as well as the fact that she served them at all since they were still underage in America—was why she was their favorite bartender.

Suddenly Fitz felt a warm hand grasping his shoulder. He turned to find a more than slightly tipsy Bobby Blakewood leaning close to him.

“Fitz!” said Blakewood. “How’s it going?” He ruffled Fitz’s hair, which Fitz tried unsuccessfully to duck out of.

Blakewood was one of the more handsome cadets at the Academy, at least from what Fitz had gleaned from hearing Simmons and Leslie talk.

“Buy you a drink?” Blakewood asked. He was gripping Fitz’s shoulder again, a little too tightly.

“Already got one,” Fitz said, holding up his glass.

Blakewood did not appear to hear him but instead looked intensely into Fitz’s eyes. “You know, if you ever need anything, anything at all, I’m here for you.” He gestured with his glass like Fitz had, only he spilled half of it on the floor. 

He rubbed Fitz’s back a little with his hand and then pointed at him with one finger from the hand holding his glass. “I’ve got my eye on you.” He winked. “See you around.”

Blakewood walked away, and Fitz straightened out his shoulders. “What. The. Hell.”

“That explains a lot,” said Leslie. She was watching Blakewood stumble back to his table with a thoughtful look on her face.

“It really does,” said Simmons, who was also watching Blakewood as though seeing him for the first time.

“What does?” asked Fitz. Nothing that was happening at the moment was making sense to him.

“We’ll explain it to you when you’re older,” said Leslie. “Preferably when you’re older and in that suit.”

“Bloody hell!” said Fitz. “What is so great about that suit? If I wore a suit like that now, would everyone in here want to shag me?”

Leslie shrugged. “I don’t know about everyone, but that was the sexiest nerd secret agent stuff I’ve ever seen, so…”

Fitz looked again at Simmons for support, but she seemed to be lost in her drink again. In their few brief interactions that day Fitz had noticed that the oddness of the night before had not changed, in fact it had increased. Something was wrong with Simmons.

Before he had a chance to ask her what that something was, Fitz was once again accosted by a classmate. This time, though, he was not physically attacked.

“Hello, Fitz.” It was Abigail Peters, the petite blonde first-year in engineering. “Are you feeling better?” She stood at the bar beside him.

“Yeah,” said Fitz. “Much better, thanks.” He had always found Abigail Peters to be a little confusing, even though he could run circles around her in their shared field. Pretty women had that effect on him.

“That was disturbing, watching Dellenbaugh strap you into that device, and then you looked so ill!” Abigail scrunched her forehead in concern. “I was worried about you.”

Fitz smiled. At least someone had been more concerned about how he was than whether they could get into his suit. “Thanks,” he said.

“Anyway,” Abigail said, glancing over Fitz’s shoulder at Simmons. “I was wondering…” she took a deep breath as though steeling herself. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to hang out some time. Just us.” She again gave a quick glance over Fitz’s shoulder at Simmons, but then looked Fitz in the eyes. “What do you think?”

Fitz did not think, not at the moment. With the exception of a very inebriated and very much older post-doc at a conference when he was fifteen, he had never been asked out by a woman before. And really that one didn’t count, since she had punctuated her proposal by vomiting on his shoes.

“I-I-umm-sure. I mean, yes. Yes, ok.”

Abigail Peters’ face broke into a lovely smile. She blushed and said “Ok. I’ll text you later.”

Fitz nodded as she gave him a shy grin and walked away.

Fitz stared at his own drink for a moment, before Leslie called him out of his reverie. “Damn. You wouldn’t think she had it in her, that little thing. People are full of surprises lately.” She gave Fitz an appraising look. “Lots of people.”

Simmons suddenly stood up, her chair making a loud creaking sound. Fitz had almost forgotten she was there, she was so uncharacteristically quiet. She put down her glass and began putting on her coat.

“You going somewhere?” he asked.

“Bed,” she said.

Fitz put his own drink down. “Why?”

“Headache,” she said, motioning toward her head. Perhaps that was why she had been behaving oddly, Fitz realized. She had been possibly feeling ill for some time, and here he had been so obsessed with his own problems that he hadn’t noticed. She had taken care of him when he burned his elbow and when he was unconscious, even coming to check on him early that next morning as she had promised. He really shouldn’t be derelict in his friendship duties toward Simmons. However irritating her nagging could be, she was still the most amazing person he had ever met. Aside from his mum, of course.

“Do you want me to come with you? Do you need anything?” Fitz found himself standing from his stool and mirroring her movements by putting on his own coat.

“No,” said Simmons, so firmly that he dropped his coat on his chair. “No, I want to be alone.” She turned her face from him and walked away from the bar, her shoulders hunched as though she were cold.

“Do you think she’s alright?” asked Fitz. He was concerned and more than a little confused.

Leslie gave Fitz a sad smile. “I don’t know.”

“Did she tell you she wasn’t well?”

“No,” she said. “But…” she seemed to be warring with herself over what to say. “It was pretty obvious. To me, anyway.”

Fitz frowned. As Simmons’ best friend, it should have been obvious to him. “Do you think there’s something I could do?” He stared after Simmons, even though he could no longer see her.

“Maybe one or the both of you could pull your heads out of your—” Fitz turned abruptly toward Leslie, and she sighed. “You could try talking to her. Tomorrow, not tonight. Give her some space.”

Fitz didn’t really like or understand the concept of giving Simmons space, but he thought Leslie was probably right. Women often were.

“And maybe you should get out of here, before you agree to date the entire Academy.”

Fitz finished his pint in a few quick gulps and pulled on his coat. He was walking toward the door when he caught the eye of Abigail Peters, sitting with a friend. She gave him a small wave, and he realized with a jolt that in addition to crazy spy stuff and getting shot he now had a date to look forward to. He climbed the stairs and went out into the bracing winter chill. He wasn’t thinking of his future, though. All he could think about was Jemma Simmons.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you now, dear reader, that Fitz will not go on a date with that girl. He's definitely got another woman on his mind...


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning Fitz got up early and bought two cups of tea in the Academy café. He avoided the barista’s comment that she really liked a man who looked like an angel yet was really anything but…if he knew what she meant. He didn’t, and he wasn’t interested in finding out. Had everyone in this damn place been at that lecture?

Fitz went to Simmons’ room and knocked but received no answer. Simmons had a routine (of course she did), and this was normally the time when she would be about to leave the dormitory. He had been hoping to surprise her with tea and see if she was feeling better. Either she was still asleep (but this was Simmons we were talking about, so he very much doubted that), or she had already gone to the lab. Or she was sitting in her room silently avoiding him. He decided not to consider that option.

Instead, he went to the lab, the one he had come to think of over the last couple of years as theirs. They had arranged their schedules so that they shared a free morning each week during which they could work on their joint projects. This was that morning. Fitz entered the lab, and, as he had suspected, found Simmons, standing at her usual workspace. He walked up beside her and placed the tea by her hand.

“Morning,” he said. He didn’t understand why he felt nervous. This was Simmons. He hadn’t felt nervous around her since those first few months at the Academy, when he had been so in awe of her he had barely dared to breath in her presence.

“Morning,” she replied, not looking up from her notebook. She appeared to be highlighting her notes in different colors. Fitz enjoyed the small things about her, like this old-fashioned habit of hers. All the technology at their disposal, and she still took notes by hand.

“Got you tea,” he said, when he could think of nothing else to say.

“Thanks,” she said, though she didn’t look at it.

“Might be cold now. Went to your room first, but…” he gestured toward her and her notes, “you were here.”

“Yes,” she said.

He wanted her to look at him. He was feeling uneasy.

“Simmons?” he asked. “You all right?”

She reached out for the tea without looking up from her notes and said, “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Your headache’s better, then?”

“Yes.”

She sipped the tea. At least she didn’t complain that it was cold. “I think we should continue testing the prototype from last week. Don’t you?” she said.

“Sure,” he said, pleased that she had brought up a topic that he could easily discuss. “I’ll go get it, shall I?” He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t. Ok, so he would just got get it, then.

He had just unlocked the cupboard in which he kept his more secret projects, when he noticed something strange. He was not the tidiest scientist ever (that title went to guess who), but even he knew that he had not left the cupboard this much of a mess.

“Hey, Simmons—” he was just starting to say, when something shiny shot past his head. There was a thwacking sound behind him. Instinct made him jump to the side, in case another object flew out of the cupboard.

“Fitz? What was that?” Simmons had come rushing toward him. Without thinking he grabbed her by both arms and pulled her away from the danger zone.

“Booby trap,” he said. He pointed to the shiny object which was now impaled into the wall opposite the cupboard. A silver dagger.

Simmons shook off Fitz’s hands and peered around him at the cupboard. “That came out of there?”

“Careful,” he said. He hesitantly peeked over her shoulder. “The moment I reached in, that flew out.”

Simmons and Fitz spent the next several minutes examining the area. The dagger seemed to be the only projectile there, and it had been rigged to shoot dangerously fast at the first touch of the shelf. Fitz was impressed with the setup, though Simmons was more concerned with how someone had been able to get into his locked cupboard in the first place.

“It’s locked with your fingerprint,” she said.

“Yes,” said Fitz, while fiddling with the knife from the wall.

“So how could someone have got in?”

Fitz touched the tip of the blade to his index finger, drawing a tiny drop of blood. The dagger was sharp and lethal.

“Whoever did this must have gotten your fingerprints somehow. This took a lot of planning.” She was staring at the drop of blood on Fitz’s finger, though she didn’t nag him to put down the knife.

Fitz sighed. He was coming to a conclusion that he didn’t really want to come to. “That exploding pen for espionage class, that was in here. I swear I put it away that morning, before it went off.”

Fitz and Simmons looked for a long moment at the cupboard. Nothing from it was missing, none of their top-secret projects. If someone had had access to it and wasn’t trying to steal from them…

“Someone is trying to kill me,” said Fitz, with a nervous laugh. If this wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to him this week…well it was that kind of week.

“Then we’ll stop them,” said Simmons, conviction in her voice. At her words Fitz felt comforted and some other emotion, something deep and desperate clawing within him. He felt like moving toward her; he wasn’t sure why.

Suddenly his phone beeped. He put down the knife and pulled his phone from his pocket.

_Morning Fitz!_ He had a text from Abigail Peters.

“What’s that?” asked Simmons.

“Hmm?” he said. “Nothing. A text.” He tried to put his phone back in his pocket, but Simmons grabbed it from him.

His phone beeped again. Simmons frowned at the screen. “She’s awfully fond of smiley faces, isn’t she?” She handed the phone back to him and picked up the dagger.

Fitz shoved the phone in his pocket as quickly as he could. He could feel himself blushing.

“So,” he said, trying to change the topic, “we should test for some finger prints of our own, although with how clever this person seems to be it doesn’t seem likely they left any.”

Simmons twirled the knife in her hand. “Don’t you need to respond to her?”

“Huh?”

“She’s texting you again.” Fitz’s phone had beeped once more. “Don’t you need to arrange your date?” Simmons spoke calmly, but Fitz sensed some venom beneath her words _._ He did not want to upset the woman holding the sharp knife.

“No, no, I’ll do it later. Abbie will understand.”

“ _Abbie_ ,” repeated Simmons.

“Ye-yes,” said Fitz. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was certain that was the girl’s name.

“You don’t call anyone else here by their first name. We all go by our last names. Except for _Abbie_.”

Fitz rubbed the back of his neck. He thought of reminding her that she called Leslie Custer by her first name, but he didn’t think that would go over well. He was still trying desperately to think of a way to respond when Simmons said something that took all thoughts from his brain.

“I didn’t think you’d replace me so fast.”

“What?”

“Oh please. Like I don’t know you found out.”

“Found out what?”

“About the offer. To go into the field.”

Fitz had not heard any such thing. And he didn’t want to hear it now.

“And so instead of even discussing it with me, you’re finding a new partner,” she said.

A realization rose to the surface of Fitz’s overtaxed mind. “Wait, you mean Abbie? Peters?” he said. “It’s a date, Simmons. We’re not working together.”

Simmons rolled her eyes. "Oh honestly, Fitz. Do you think that’s what she’s really after? She can barely complete her assignments; I heard she might not finish the year. She clearly wants to attach herself to the most brilliant mind here.” Simmons gestured toward Fitz with the knife.

Fitz felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He thought he might be sick. “Is that what you think?” he asked, though he knew the answer. She had just said it, after all.

He swallowed down some bile and looked her in the eye. “Is that the only reason that you think a woman would want to date me?”

Simmons shook her head and looked uncomfortable. “Of course not…I didn’t mean…” she trailed off.

“And you’re just going to leave me?” he asked. “Were you even going to tell me you were going into the field? We have plans, Simmons. Our lab, our work.” Fitz was motioning around the room, as though it encompassed everything that they had planned. In truth, it did.

“Well it’s not like you have anything that involves me in your future, anyway,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw it, Fitz.” Simmons, usually so controlled and collected, was starting to raise her voice. “I saw your future. And I wasn’t in it.”

Fitz froze. “That-that wasn’t even-you said yourself we don’t know what that was.”

“It was you!” Simmons said. “It was you, in some fantasy or real future or whatever it was, but it was you! You in your fancy clothes with your new best friend and not even a thought about me!”

“I don’t—”

“You called him your best friend! And you had some woman, or a bunch of women, or…” Simmons was losing some of her steam, and she seemed uncertain of what she was saying. “Not me,” she said. She dropped the knife on the table.

Fitz didn’t respond, because he had no idea how to. His phone beeped.

Simmons crossed her arms over her chest. “Answer it,” she ordered.

Fitz hesitated but then took out his phone, terrified of refusing her. He saw another text. _Dellenbaugh giving another lecture in a few. You coming?_

Fitz looked up at Simmons. “Dellenbaugh’s giving another lecture soon,” he said. “Should we—”

He would have finished his sentence, but Simmons was already walking toward the door. “Let’s go see what that crackpot has to say this time.”

He thought he heard her mutter “and maybe I can get some answers,” but he wasn’t about to ask her to speak up.

 

 

Though it didn’t seem possible, the lecture hall was even more crowded than last time. Students were seated on the stairs, and there were screens set up around the hall showing that other cadets and professors were watching from their classrooms and labs. Dr. Dellenbaugh preened in front of the dais, clearly pleased with the turnout. When he saw Fitz and Simmons enter the loud hall, he frowned slightly. He motioned for Fitz to come down to him. Fitz looked to see what Simmons thought about him revisiting the scene that had led to so many crimes, but she wasn’t there. She had disappeared into the crowd.

Fitz walked down the stairs, trying not to step on his colleagues. Dr. Dellenbaugh clapped him on the back when he reached him.

“How are you doing, my boy? Feeling better?”

“Some, Dr. Dellenbaugh.”

“I’m terribly sorry about last time. I’ve made some adjustments, which is why I’ve called everyone here. It shouldn’t be nearly as bad for you this time.”

“Huh?” asked Fitz.

“All right, everyone,” said Dr. Dellenbaugh to the lecture hall. The room became quiet so suddenly it was startling. Or maybe that wasn’t what had sent a shiver up Fitz’s spine.

“We’re going to start where we left off last time, hopefully with better results.” Dellenbaugh gestured toward the chair beside the microwave. “Dr. Fitz.”

“I don’t—” said Fitz, but Dellenbaugh grabbed him by the arm and placed him onto the chair with surprising strength. “Don’t worry. You shouldn’t pass out this time. Probably.” He picked up the helmet.

Fitz saw a blur of faces, including one that looked stricken and beautiful and guilty, before he saw the familiar wave of darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

“Seriously, mate, what were you thinking?” The man who spoke was driving a vehicle and wearing a chauffeur’s uniform. He appeared to be the same man who had dropped Fitz off at the glass building, though now he was driving a van, not a limousine. He had a strong London accent and was driving incredibly fast with only one hand on the steering wheel.

“You haven’t spoken to her in _weeks_?” said the man.

Mack the not-repairman clutched at the ceiling of the van as they went around a particularly sharp turn. The sound of gunfire exploded behind them, and he ducked his head. “I told you, I have spoken to her. Just only about work stuff. And I don’t want to talk about this right now. You just try not to kill us.”

The driver rolled his eyes, as though driving at racecar speed away from people trying to shoot them was an everyday occurrence for him.

“Do you hear this Bobbi?”

A woman’s voice spoke from a speaker on the dash. “Yes, Hunter. And I agree with Mack. Get them out of there.”

“But it’s weird, right?” Hunter glanced at Fitz, who nodded.

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” said Fitz.

“I’m in the location. Just get the damn van here, Hunter.”

“Alright, alright, woman.” Hunter swerved them over a sidewalk and down a flight of stairs. They bounced to a stop in front of a large empty parking lot.

“The doors are down; just drive in,” said the woman in the speaker.

“It’s kind of difficult when I can’t see the plane, love.”

Suddenly a Quin jet materialized seemingly out of thin air, nearly filling the entire parking lot.

“Thank you,” said Hunter. He drove them up a ramp and onto the plane. The ramp lifted behind them, just as another vehicle sped into view. A few bullets were fired at the plane, but it was already rising into the air.

The three men were slammed back in their seats by the force of the lifting plane.

“Taking off,” said the woman’s voice.

“A little late for that,” said Hunter.

Once the plane had stopped its ascent, Fitz unbuckled his seat belt and stepped down onto the jet. He stretched out his shoulder, wincing a bit as he moved his wounded arm.

“You injured?” asked Hunter, who had also exited the vehicle.

“Just a graze,” said Fitz.

“Better have Bobbi take a look at it,” said Mack, taking off his cap and throwing it back into the van.

Hunter was inspecting Fitz’s arm, which had already stopped bleeding. “Just a scratch,” he declared. “You baby him too much.”

“And you,” said Mack, “are so reckless you nearly got us killed back there.” He unzipped his workman’s jacket, revealing a bulletproof vest. “And I do not baby him.”

Fitz played with the hole in his suit sleeve with a frown on his face. “Sometimes you do.”

“Well, you,” said Mack, pointing at Fitz, “shouldn’t get hurt so much.”

Hunter nodded in agreement. “You do get hurt a lot.” He put a hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “You should stop that. You’re making mummy and daddy worry.”

Fitz pushed away Hunter’s hand and grabbed his briefcase. “I’m going up front.”

“Make sure she takes a look at you,” said Mack. Hunter raised his eyebrows. “I’ll baby him if I want to,” Mack muttered.

“And what do you think, love?” Hunter called up to the front of the jet.

Bobbi yelled back from the pilot’s seat. “I think you’re all a bunch of babies.”

Fitz sat next to Bobbi in the cockpit. She took off the headset that was on top of her blonde hair and pressed a few buttons on the plane’s control panel. “There,” she said. She turned to look at Fitz. “Let me see.”

Fitz twisted so that Bobbi could get a look at his right shoulder. She prodded at it a bit, pulling the blue material back so she could properly view the wound. “You’ll live,” she said. “Just get it cleaned up when we get back.”

He rearranged himself in his chair so that he was facing forward.

“She’ll be pretty mad about the suit, though,” Bobbi said, putting her headset back on.

“Yeah,” said Fitz glumly. “Do you think you could fix it?”

“Do I look like your tailor?” Bobbi did not look like any tailor Fitz had seen. She actually looked like a tall blonde Amazon warrior. She gave Fitz a fond smile. “Maybe we can find you something else to wear,” she said.

Fitz pulled his briefcase on to his lap and opened it. He plugged it into a spot on the control panel of the plane.

“You find what you were looking for?” asked Bobbi.

“Think so,” said Fitz. “Uploading it now.”

“That was a pretty smooth mission. You planned it well.”

Fitz was typing. “Only the typical chaos,” he said.

“I hope it was worth it.”

Fitz tapped enter on his computer briefcase, and the screen lit up with red block letters. _BEER HAT OF DARKNESS_ , it read.

“I hope so, too.”

 

 

The plane landed in a hangar that appeared to be the side of a hill until the moment they were about to fly into it. The hangar was full of planes and gear and men and women who appeared busy. The team walked among them, Bobbi stopping to discuss something about her jet with a man holding a tablet.

Hunter grabbed Fitz by the non-injured shoulder and gestured toward Mack. “So back to important stuff. What are we going to do about his love life?”

Mack walked away from them, but Hunter and Fitz followed. They stepped through heavy metal doors into a hallway also bustling with activity.

“I can handle that myself,” said Mack.

“Yeah,” said Hunter, “there’s been no evidence of that so far.”

“Can’t you at least talk to her?” asked Fitz.

“We’ve been taking a break,” said Mack. “It was all…too much.”

Fitz and Hunter seemed to have no response for that. They both knew what too much felt like.

“At least take her out, mate,” said Hunter. “Show her you still care. You do, don’t you?”

Mack had stopped in his tracks and was staring down the long hallway at a small woman with her back to him. She was gesturing while talking to another woman. Her hands appeared to be made of a silver metal.

“Fine,” he said, turning to look at the two men. “What do you have in mind?”

“Now we’re talking. Romance a la Hunter and Fitz. Just let us handle everything. You will not be sorry.”

“I already am.”

“At least we have women, mate.”

“Women who want to kill you half the time.”

“And we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A slight smile ticked up the corner of Fitz’s mouth. “That’s true.”

A woman wearing a skintight tactical suit and shiny metal gauntlets on her forearms approached them. “Hey guys,” she said.

“Daisy,” said Mack.

“Can I borrow you two a minute?” She pointed to Hunter and Mack.

“As long as you help us arrange a romantic dinner for this one.” Hunter nodded toward Mack, who looked like he wanted to strangle him.

“Yeah, I am not going to do that,” said Daisy.

“Excellent. Lead the way.” Hunter headed off in the direction that Daisy pointed him. She glanced at Fitz’s bloody shoulder.

“You get shot?”

“Little bit.”

“Get checked out in medical,” she said. She called over her shoulder as she followed Mack and Hunter. “She’s going to be really disappointed about the suit.”

“I know!” said Fitz. Did they not think he knew?

Fitz went to medical and had his arm cleaned and bandaged. As he had told everyone, the bullet had only grazed him.

He was just putting back on his torn suit jacket, when a voice called out from behind him.

“There you are!”

He turned to see Jemma Simmons walking toward him. She was wearing a lab coat over a dark-patterned dress shirt and black slacks with trainers. Her makeup was much darker than what she had worn at the Academy, which made her look more serious and stern. It was a pretty attractive look.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“I think I got what we were after. And we all made it back.” He tried to tilt his body slightly so that his right shoulder wasn’t visible to her.

“Well done. I’ll have someone scan the files, and we’ll see if we can’t solve this thing. When did you want to—” she stopped talking and pulled Fitz so she could see the arm he was attempting to hide from her. “Oh Fitz, what happened?”

“I got shot?” he said.

“Not badly,” she said.

“No.”

“But your suit!” She looked devastated. “Look at it!”

“I know, I—”

“We were going to dinner! How can we go to dinner if you don’t have a suit?”

“I could wear a different one.”

Jemma pouted a little. “I liked this one.” She ran her finger down the lapel. Fitz sucked in a deep breath.

“I know,” he said.

“Well, you could always wear a cardigan,” she said brightly.

Fitz gave an exasperated sigh. “We’ve discussed this, Jemma. I can’t wear a cardigan to a restaurant that fancy.”

Simmons stuck out her bottom lip slightly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Fitz shook his head. “I’ll find something else to wear, and we’ll go to dinner and then the hotel-”

“Or you know,” said Simmons, playing with the buttons on his shirt, “we could just skip the dinner altogether.”

Fitz was unable to breath. “Oh?”

“We could go directly to the hotel, and then it wouldn’t matter if you were wearing the suit,” she very lightly scraped a fingernail down his chest, “or not.”

Fitz nodded several times, as though this were the best idea he’d ever heard. “You really are brilliant, you know that?”

Simmons smiled up at him, a blazing smile that lit up her eyes. “Yes, I am well aware.”

Fitz stepped back from her and moved toward the exit. “I’ll got get a car.”

“And I’ll go get you a cardigan!” she said.

Fitz paused, confused for a moment—why would he need a cardigan for whatever they were about to do?—but then he took off in the direction of the vehicle bay. He stopped to grab his bag from his locker along the way. He pulled out a golden object from a small pocket inside and placed it on his finger. You couldn’t very well celebrate your anniversary without wearing a wedding ring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is post-season 5 (Yo-Yo has metal arms!), and yet Hunter and Bobbi are there, they aren't in space, and they live in a base we've never seen. Don't ask me why; it just happened that way.


	6. Chapter 6

This time Fitz did not pass out when the vision was done. This time he died of embarrassment. At least that’s what it felt like.

He saw the flash of a wedding ring, and then the vision dissolved around him, leaving him staring at a room full of blank faces. He saw the face of Simmons, sitting in a back row. She no longer had a guilty expression. She looked as though she may be going into shock.

Dr. Dellenbaugh cleared his throat, the sound carrying in the silence. “Excellent. That worked perfectly. The adjustments I made seemed to have helped. How are you feeling this time, Dr. Fitz?”

Fitz realized almost too late that he was going to be sick. He stood up unsteadily and ran out the door at the side of the stage. Luckily, this door took him outside. He retched onto the grass, dropping to his knees.

When he was able to stand, he tottered off to his room. No one came to check on him, and the campus was the emptiest he’d ever seen it. The entire Academy must be still engrossed in Dellenbaugh’s lecture. He was grateful for this at least—that no one was there to witness his misery.

He collapsed on his bed. He wasn’t sure if the nausea was caused by emotions or by the machine. His stomach had churned the last time he had woken from his unconscious state, he recalled. He rolled onto his side, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself. _Simmons_ , he thought. Her face—with deep red lipstick and a salacious smile—swam in front of his closed eyes. He fell asleep longing for her in a way he had never let himself before.

 

The next day almost no one spoke to him when they saw him, which was somehow worse than before. People avoided him, but there was a lot of snickering and knowing grins. Rajesh Shah said “I knew you were getting laid,” and Neveah Watts shook her head and told him “The cute ones are always taken,” to which her friends sadly nodded. Most other people stared at him but said nothing.

Leslie Custer was the only one to address him head on. She stopped him in the hallway, wagged a finger in his face and said “That. That is what you two could have been doing this whole time. Don’t think you can hide how you feel _now_.” The other cadets in the hallway had stopped and seemed to agree with her. “It’s about time,” one of them said. “Just get with her already,” said another. “I thought they were already a couple,” said one confused man.

Leslie raised an eyebrow at Fitz’s lack of response and then sauntered off down the hall. He was glad he had forgotten to tip her that one time.

He tried to avoid public spaces as much as he could throughout the day, but he had to get to his classes. He also very much wanted to see Simmons. Or he didn’t. He wasn’t sure. He wanted to make sure she was ok, but he really didn’t want to have to have a conversation about what they had seen.       

The first time he saw her she was sitting in the front row of a class they shared. The other students whispered and giggled (actually giggled—weren’t these supposed to be adults?) as he entered the room. He normally sat beside Simmons in this class, but then she normally sat in the second row, not the first. Sensing that she was trying to avoid him, he hesitated in the aisle. The entire class watched him, and they gave a collective groan when he sat down several seats away from her and in a different row. One cadet reached up to pat him on the back. “You’ll get her some day, buddy.”

Fitz was blushing furiously, not just because his cheeks were violently red, but because he was furious. He could tell from the rigid tension in Simmons’ back that she had heard and understood everything that had happened. He was starting to hate every single person here, except for her.

He tried to chase after her after class, the ogling of the other students be damned, but she rushed out of the room before he had finished gathering his things. He was therefore startled to walk into their usual lab and find it empty save Simmons, standing beside the window. He was thrilled to see her, especially with no one else around, but he was also suddenly terrified. He thought about turning and running before she noticed him.

“Fitz, come here,” she said, still peering at the window.

He walked over to her and realized that she wasn’t looking out of the window but at the edge of the frame.

“Do you see this?” she asked. She was pointing at a small crack. When Fitz looked into it he saw a glimmer, as though something within had caught a glint of light.

Fitz took his multi-tool from his pocket and pried the plaster and wood away from the crack. He could see that the area had been recently repaired, though it had been weathered to look like the surrounding plaster. Inside the crack he found a small metal cylinder.

“A surveillance device,” said Simmons. The device was equipped with a miniscule camera and a tiny but powerful transmitter. Fitz was surprised at how advanced the tech was. He had never seen anything, even here at S.H.I.E.L.D., that was quite this minute and powerful.

“It was trained on us,” said Simmons. “On our lab bench.” They looked at their lab space and then back at the device in Fitz’s hand in unison. “I don’t like this at all, Fitz.” She sounded frightened.

Fitz dropped the cylinder on the floor and crushed it with the heel of his shoe.

“See?” he said. “It’s done.”

Simmons looked around the rest of the room. “We should check for more.”

They spent the next twenty minutes searching for more surveillance equipment but found nothing. Fitz gave her his expert opinion that they were now safe.

“Safe?” she said. “Someone is trying to kill you, Fitz! They rigged your pen and your cupboard, and now their surveilling us as well!”

“Safe from prying eyes and ears, I guess. That’s what I meant.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t know how to calm her. Honestly, with everything else that was going on, he had nearly forgotten that his life was in danger.

“We have to figure out who’s doing this,” said Simmons. “And I know now what we have to do.”

Fitz was glad that Simmons had a plan. Of course, she always did. It was one of the things he appreciated (and sometimes couldn’t stand) about working with her.

“We have to break into Dr. Dellenbaugh’s lab and use his time machine again.”

“What?” This was not the plan that Fitz had been expecting. This was not something he ever wanted to do. Not ever. “We have to…what?”

Simmons walked over to her lab station and started rifling through her papers. “We don’t know who this person is or where they’ll strike next. They must know we’re onto them, now that we’ve destroyed their surveillance device, so I doubt they’ll come back here. But if we can look into the very near future, to the next attack, perhaps we can gain some clues as to who they are or what they’re going to do before it happens.”

Fitz frowned. “Time is fixed, Simmons. We can’t change it.”

“Perhaps,” said Simmons. “I’m still not convinced that we’re even seeing the future in these visions. Did you see what I was wearing?”

Fitz thought about the wedding ring he had seen on her finger, but he didn’t think that’s what she meant.

“Then why bother with the machine?”

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked.

Fitz did not. “But we don’t know how to work it,” he said, hopeful that he could deter her on this point.

“I do,” she said. “After you ran out of the lecture, Dellenbaugh explained the basic principles of his machine. I took notes. I have them here.” She held up the notebook she had been searching for.

“So,” said Fitz, who could think of no other avenues for stopping her, “what do we do, exactly?”

“We prepare ourselves, and then tonight we get to that machine.”

 

 

It occurred to Fitz as he walked down the hallway to his room that he and Simmons had not discussed anything important. Someone spying on him and trying to murder him—that was important, yes. But in Fitz’s mind the possibility that Simmons might some day want to drag him off to a hotel room for a romantic interlude was the most important revelation of the last few days. Possibly the most important of his life. And then there was the terrifying news that she was considering leaving him to go into the field. He shuddered. He did not want to go into the field, not in the least. Not even if it made him the suit-wearing, gun-toting, swagger factory that everyone around here seemed to admire. He didn’t want to get shot, thank you very much.

But clearly that was the kind of man Simmons preferred. Future Simmons had been just as taken with that new version of him as everyone else. Maybe he was going to have to change everything about himself just to be with her. He was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but he probably would.

Fitz was pondering these grave matters when he turned a corner and walked right into Abigail Peters. She stumbled, and he grabbed her by the shoulders to right her. He released his hold on her quickly, but she blushed.

“Oh,” she said.

“Sorry,” said Fitz. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Abigail looked at her sneakers and slipped something into her pocket. “I was distracted as well.”

There was an awkward silence, made more awkward by the fact that Fitz realized he had not responded to a single one of her texts since she had asked him out. Nor, he also realized, had he thought about her until this moment.

“Sorry I didn’t reply to your texts,” he said in a rush. “I’ve been rather—”

“Busy?” she said. “I’ve noticed. I was at the lecture yesterday.”

“Ah,” said Fitz.

“That’s why I’m here. I thought I’d leave you a note, since texting didn’t seem to be working. It seems callous to text it, anyway…” she trailed off. She gestured back toward his door, which he could see just behind her. “Then I lost my nerve, apparently.”

“You were going to leave me a note?”

“I was. I—” she was working her hands together, twisting them back and forth. A nervous gesture, Fitz supposed. He didn’t know her well enough to know.

She took a deep breath and spoke again. “I wanted to let you off the hook. With the date, I mean. I’m well aware of your relationship with Dr. Simmons.”

Fitz couldn’t correct her fast enough. “Simmons and I are not—”

“I know what you tell everyone,” said Abigail, cutting him off. “I know what you tell yourselves. But please, just this once, don’t lie. I really did like you.”

Fitz looked away from her, chagrined. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, but apparently his silence was enough.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. She looked a little wistful. “I had hoped…but that’s that, I guess.” She kicked the toe of her shoe on the carpet. “I should go.”

Abigail walked around Fitz, who hadn’t moved the entire conversation. “Good luck,” she said.

“With what?” he asked.

She gave him a small smile. “Everything,” she said.

She turned the corner, leaving Fitz standing in stunned silence. He no longer had a date now, he supposed. He thought he should feel disappointed, but he did not. The only thing he felt was guilt, for perhaps leading her on. He supposed she was right; he should stop lying to himself. There wasn’t any woman for him but Jemma Simmons.

 

 

Fitz had just put on the only black clothes he owned, when there was a soft tap at his door. It was Simmons, wearing a black beret and trench coat.

“A beret?” he asked. “Are we storming the Bastille?”

“Shut it,” Simmons whispered. “You ready?”

Fitz didn’t know how to be ready for a situation like this, but he held up the packet of pills Simmons had told him to bring. “Got my anti-nausea medication, so yeah, ready for all the dangers we might face.”

Simmons led them out onto the dark campus. It was odd being on the Academy grounds at night, even after living and working here for so long. He had had some pretty late nights—cramming for exams, working on projects with Simmons, and occasionally stumbling home from the Boiler Room—but he had never been this aware of every sound, every dark space where someone could be hiding. If someone were trying to kill him, this would be a good opportunity.

When Simmons brought them to a stairwell that led to the basement of the lab building, Fitz had a sudden flashback to his last nauseating encounter with the dreaded time machine. He had been lurching back to his dormitory, past exactly this spot, when he had seen something out of the corner of his eye. At the time he had been too ill to really pay attention, but it had been a man, he assumed a gardener or maintenance person. But now he remembered that the man had worn a suit and tie. He had had a surprised expression on his face when he had seen Fitz, as though he recognized him. The man did not look familiar to Fitz. He had looked like he was about to say something, but Fitz had hurried off, his stomach clenching and vision blurring.

Fitz was not sure who the man was, but he was certain he did not work at the Academy. He would have recognized him at least by sight if he did. A strange man sneaking out of the building their lab was in…this just got better and better.

Fitz followed Simmons down the stairs and into the basement of the building.

“Why can’t we just go in the normal way?” he asked. “We have access codes.”

Simmons was closing the door behind them, putting the actual physical key that she had somehow acquired back in her pocket. “There are cameras up there. Plus the codes could help them track who broke in. Down here is the best place to sneak in unnoticed.”

Fitz was pretty sure Simmons was not the only one who had come to this conclusion. He decided not to tell her about the strange man yet. Maybe wait until they were done with their creepy adventure.

“All right,” she said. “Your turn.” She motioned toward the control panel for the building’s alarm system.

Fitz had disabled the alarms in his dormitory his first year at the Academy, after they had gone off accidentally one night. Fitz could be grumpy in the mornings, but he was absolutely devilish when woken up by a blast of shrill sirens at four am. He had damaged the system so thoroughly that no one at the Academy could get it working again until his first year was almost finished. This was one of the stories that had started the rumor that he was the smartest person to ever attend the Academy. Or whatever they said about him. He didn’t really notice.

Fitz made quick work of the alarm system. “They’ve made some improvements, I see. Adorable.”

“Yes, yes,” said Simmons. “You’re so clever.”

Simmons didn’t exactly like those rumors about him. They both knew who was the smartest. He wasn’t about to correct everyone, though.

Simmons was already on the move. She wove them up and down flights of stairs and along dark corridors in areas of the building Fitz had never been to before. It was almost like she had memorized the building’s floorplan, the way she moved without being able to see. _Almost like?_ Scratch that. Simmons, being Simmons, had memorized the building’s floorplan.

She brought them to a corridor that was only lit by the glowing red of the exit signs. She began counting doors. “And ten,” she said. She pointed to a door with no label. “This should be Dellenbaugh’s lab.”

“Should be?”

“This is S.H.I.E.L.D. They don’t exactly advertise where high clearance level work goes on.”

“High clearance?”

"Dellenbaugh has one of the highest clearance levels of any Academy professor. Higher than Weaver, so I’ve heard. Didn’t you know?”

Fitz did not know this. He thought the man was just some aging crackpot. Ok, even with this knowledge, he still thought the man was an aging crackpot.

“Can we just get this over with?” said Fitz.

Simmons once again pulled a key from her pocket (had she stolen them or manufactured them, he wondered) and unlocked the door.

Dellenbaugh’s lab was, like his office, a chaotic mess. Simmons kept exclaiming in horror. “Some of these chemicals! To just keep them out in the open in large vats—what is he thinking?”

Beyond surviving in such a space, Fitz wondered how the man could possibly get anything done. He picked up one of the dozens of half-finished projects—a few wires soldered to a microchip—and frowned.

“Do you think we should share our color system with him?”

“I think this is beyond even our help,” said Simmons. She picked up a brown banana peel from among the mechanical detritus on one of the tables and dropped it on top of what looked like an enormous metal cockroach in an overflowing waste bin. “Oh, look,” she said. “There’s the machine.”

Fitz walked around another cluttered table to the back of the lab. The beer hat and microwave where on a small table beside a chair. The machine was set up as though it had been recently used. Simmons had already pulled her notebook out of the pocket of her trench coat and was fiddling with the microwave’s controls.

“Perhaps he tests it in here?” asked Fitz. He had picked up the hat and was peering at the wiring inside.

“On whom? Who would come in here but Dellenbaugh? Who could stand the smell?”

Fitz put the helmet down and backed away. He really hated this thing. “Maybe he tests it on himself.”

Simmons pressed a button on the microwave with increasing force. “I can’t get it to work,” she said. “Rather,” she sighed, “I’m not sure how.”

“What do you mean? I thought you said you knew how it worked.”

“He told us how to turn it off and on. How it does what it does. Vaguely. He didn’t explain how to choose a time in the future.”

Fitz tried to help, but the thing just looked like a microwave.

“How about we set the timer to a minute, or something like that? Then we can test it and see where we end up? We could keep trying until we get it right?”

“Trial and error,” said Simmons. “Yes, that’s all we can do. Hand me the pills.” She picked up the helmet and sat down in the chair.

Fitz had been pulling the pills out of his pocket, and now he held them away from her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to use the machine this time, obviously.”

Fitz did not think this was an obvious plan. He did not even think that it was a possible plan. “Absolutely not,” he said.

Simmons raised her eyebrows. _You do not tell me what to do_ , read her expression. But Fitz didn’t care.

“I was the one to use it before. It should still be me.”

“Fitz, you’re the engineer. You are much more capable of figuring out the machine than I am. And, should I black out or become ill, you are the stronger of the two of us and can assist me out of here.”

Fitz knew that strongest between the two of them wasn’t much of a prize, but he couldn’t fault her logic, on either of these points. Damn logic.

“Also,” said Simmons, who was looking down at her own hands. “I can’t watch you go through that again. I should have stopped you the last time, grabbed you and dragged you from the lecture hall before Dellenbaugh…” Simmons trailed off, clearly fighting back emotion. So, this was why she had looked guilty.

“I was upset with you,” she said, “but I should have stood up for you when it mattered.”

“You were upset with me?” asked Fitz. He had picked up on that fact at the time, but he wanted her to explain.

“I thought you were going to leave me,” she said. “It-it looked like that. In your first vision.” She said this last bit so quietly that Fitz almost couldn’t hear her. This was the closest either of them had come to bringing up what they had seen happen between their future selves in the second vision.

“But instead, you’re going to leave me,” said Fitz. Simmons met his eyes for the first time since this conversation began. She looked confused. “You’re going into the field,” he said.

“I was hoping that I could--,” she said, but then she sighed. “I don’t think this is the right time to discuss this. We don’t have long.” She held up the beer helmet. “We can talk about this later, ok?”

Fitz did not want Simmons to use the machine, but he didn’t know that what he wanted mattered at the moment. Simmons looked at him almost pleadingly. After a long pause he handed her the packet of pills and tapped a few buttons on the microwave while she took one. She put the helmet on her head, and then Fitz pressed Start.

He was shocked to see Simmons’ body go rigid in her chair. Her eyes appeared to be moving back and forth rapidly, as though she were dreaming. A glow behind the machine distracted him from watching her, and he realized that the back of the microwave was somehow projecting images on to the blank wall behind it. The images being projected were almost totally black, though he could see blurry movements occasionally. He was wondering if he needed to adjust the machine, when a voice cried out.

“Oh god Fitz.”

Fitz looked around the room panicked, before he realized that the voice was coming from the machine.

He heard a moan and then another sound, like the creaking of a bed.

“Yes, right there. Yes!” That was clearly Simmons’ voice.

Fitz started frantically pressing buttons on the microwave. He didn’t want to fry Simmons’ brain, but he didn’t think she would forgive him if he didn’t try to stop them from seeing this.

The vision on the wall appeared to pulse and then it grew lighter. It seemed he had sped forward, and now it was early morning, with some dim moonlight spilling through a window. Moonlight that spilled onto Simmons’ pale skin. Fitz averted his eyes as quickly as he could. He heard her say, “Please don’t take it off. I love the cardigan,” followed by some very obscene moans that he was pretty sure were coming from his future self. He slapped the buttons on the machine again.

“Honestly,” he muttered. “How long can we keep at it?” He didn’t really want to ponder this question.

He was relieved to see the vision change again. This time he could see that it was morning, and they were in a bed with white sheets. The bedclothes were thankfully wrapped around their important bits, although Fitz himself was wrapped around Simmons. She was running her fingers through his hair.

“Fitz,” she murmured.

He did not respond but tried to burrow his face farther into her neck.

She smiled and kissed his temple. “I know you don’t want to get up, but we have to check out soon.”

He groaned.

“We’ll get you breakfast,” she said. “A large breakfast. Anything you want.”

“I’m quite partial to banana pancakes,” said a voice close to his ear. Fitz only had time to realize that the voice was not coming from the machine before he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and then nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments and kudos!! I'm so happy that you enjoy it!


	7. Chapter 7

Fitz was very uncomfortable. His arms were twisted behind him, and, try as he might, he couldn’t seem to move them. He groaned.

“You awake, dear boy?”

Fitz struggled to open his eyes. He saw something shiny and fuzzy. He blinked a few times, and slowly the object came into focus. A metal table leg.

“I left you on the floor while I worked on Dr. Simmons here. Sorry about that.”

At the mention of Simmons, Fitz tried to lift his head. “Whereshe?” he mumbled.

“Don’t try to get up, my boy. It won’t work. The sedative is much too strong. You’ll only injure yourself further.”

Fitz could feel something wet and sticky on his forehead. He scrunched his face and felt a searing pain in his temple.

Fitz heard a soft thud beside him, followed by a muffled whimper. He was jerked into a seated position and leaned against something warm. The sudden movement made his head ache and his vision fog. Slowly he turned his head enough to see that Simmons sat beside him, a piece of cloth tied over her mouth. Her eyes looked large and terrified. She glanced at Fitz’s forehead, and her face contorted with concern.

“I really am sorry about this. I just didn’t know what else to do.” A face swam into Fitz’s field of vision. The face of Dr. Dellenbaugh. “I had to make you curious, lure you here. It’s the best place to kill you, after all."

He had a tender, almost forlorn expression on his face. “And I didn’t mean to kill your girlfriend, too. But you really are inseparable aren’t you? Even in the future you would have had.” He gestured to the wall on which Simmons’ vision had projected.

“I don’t understand, though,” he muttered. “Even after you were passed out on the floor, even as I tied her up, it still played. This idyllic future of the two of you.” Dr. Dellenbaugh looked into Fitz’s eyes, searchingly. “Do you understand it?”

Dellenbaugh stood and began pacing. “I can’t figure it out; what the machine tells me. Everything has worked as I had hoped, and you are both tied up and ready. But your future hasn’t changed.”

He picked up the beer helmet and held it reverently, almost lovingly in his hands. “Shall I tell you what I saw, when I finally completed my greatest invention, the culmination of years of labor and sacrifice? Do you have any idea how much I’ve given up to achieve this, what I’ve done? And then, when I finally was able to view my future for the first time.” He put the helmet down. “Imagine my surprise when I didn’t have one.”

He turned to face Fitz. “All I saw was you. Your face, telling me that you were sorry. And then darkness. Each time I used the machine, your face, and then my own death.”

Dellenbaugh did not appear angry, only sad and confused. “I thought perhaps if I were to put you in the machine I would see the events that led up to my death, but all I saw was you, older and more mature. You kill me, and you don’t even look back.”

He picked up the helmet once again. “I told the Clairvoyant, and he laughed. He called it ‘The Beer Helmet of Darkness.’ He has a sadistic sense of humor. And a sadistic everything else, for that matter.”

Something stirred in Fitz’s groggy mind. _Beer Helmet of Darkness_. Where had he seen that?

“Anyway,” said Dellenbaugh, “he has his own way of viewing the future. But we mere mortals, we do the best that we can.”

“You tricked me,” said Fitz. It was really the best he could think of.

“Yes,” said Dellenbaugh sadly. “I stole your fingerprints last time you visited my office, rigged various clues for you to find, hoping they would lead you here. As I said, I didn’t want to. I really have always been fond of you. You remind me of myself when I was younger.”

“Less of a whackjob.”

“True,” said Dellenbaugh thoughtfully. “Although you never know what life may bring you to, what choices you may be forced to make. What darkness lies within you. I never knew what I was capable of until now.”

“You spied on us,” said Fitz. His mouth still felt like it was full of marshmallows, but his vision was starting to clear.

“I did,” said Dellenbaugh brightly. “Did you like my new tech? I created a new miniature camera, a gift for the Clairvoyant. He said he needed something that would fit into a human eye. Psychotic bastard. Still,” he looked down at the beer helmet that he was cradling like a baby, “he did provide me with everything I needed to build this.”

“Gave me an idea,” said Fitz. He tried to shift position, but his arms were still restricted painfully behind him. “In my jacket.”

Dellenbaugh frowned. He put down his invention and knelt beside Fitz. He pulled back Fitz’s black jacket, revealing a cluster of wires.

“A recording device?” he asked.

“Just audio. Nothing fancy,” said Fitz. “Recording everything you say to a server in Singapore. And, unless I put in a code to stop it, that recording will be sent automatically to Dr. Weaver.”

“Clever,” said Dellenbaugh. “What’s the code?”

“Let Simmons go,” said Fitz. “Let her go, and I will tell you.”

Simmons wiggled and made a mumbled speech beside him. Fitz couldn’t tell what she was saying, but he understood.

“I can’t do that,” said Dellenbaugh. “Please stop struggling.” He moved over to Simmons and grabbed her arms. He tied her to the table leg.

“I wish I could let you live; I have nothing against you, my dear,” he said to Simmons. She glared at him. “But you know too much now. You’re as good as a recording yourself.”

He rose and stood over Fitz. “Which means you’ll have to do it anyway.”

“I won’t,” said Fitz.

Dellenbaugh sighed. “Don’t make me torture her, ok? I’m not very practiced, and it would probably just get very…messy.”

Fitz couldn’t think properly any more, but he was pretty sure it was no longer an effect of the sedative. “Ok,” he said. “Don’t hurt her.”

Dellenbaugh nodded. “You see? I knew you’d come round. Now, tell me the code.”

“It has to be me,” said Fitz. “My fingerprint, my retinal scan. You have to untie me.”

Dellenbaugh chuckled. “You really are the most brilliant student I’ve seen come through here.” Fitz heard Simmons huff. He didn’t have to be looking at her to know she was rolling her eyes.

“All right, my boy. You win. We’ll play your little game before you die.” He pulled Fitz forward and began untying his arms. “I don’t know why you told me this, though. You have no leverage, and if you had remained silent Weaver would have known everything, which at least would have given your death some nobility. Now you will still die, and no one will ever know why.”

“You talk a lot,” said Fitz. He was stretching his fingers, trying to get the feeling back in them.

“And just in case you get any other clever ideas…” Dellenbaugh pulled a handgun from his coat pocket and pointed it at Fitz. “What do you need?”

“Your computer,” said Fitz. He stood, trying to straighten his stiff spine.

Dellenbaugh turned to a nearby table and began shoving things with the hand not holding the gun. “I know it’s under here somewhere. Been a bit of a mess lately.” He let out a small explosion of hysterical laughter, and Fitz winced. He glanced at Simmons, who seemed to be trying to communicate something to him with her eyes.

She kept nodding in the direction of Dellenbaugh, arching her eyebrows high on her forehead. He gave a confused shrug, and she rolled her eyes.

“Here it is!” called Dellenbaugh, just as Simmons swung her entire body, sending the table she was tied to flying. Fitz was barely able to jump out of the way as the table knocked Dellenbaugh flat, a pile of debris crashing on top of him.

Fitz leapt to the man’s side and pulled the gun from his hand. He and Dellenbaugh both looked down to see a large pool of hissing acid spilling from a broken container on to the professor’s chest. “I’m so sorry, sir,” said Fitz.

Dellenbaugh looked confused. “No,” he said. “I—” his face and then his entire body constricted, Fitz assumed in pain. Then his head fell back. He appeared to have passed out.

Fitz ran back over to Simmons, who lay twisted around the leg of the now sideways table. “Simmons, you ok?”

She gave a garbled response, and Fitz pulled the cloth off her mouth.

“Are you?” she said.

“What?” said Fitz. He was trying to pull the cords off her wrists as quickly as he could.

“Ok? Are you all right?” she asked, a little frantically.

“Yes, Simmons, I’m fine.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and he helped her sit up. She rubbed her wrists where the cords had cut into her skin. “I couldn’t see what happened.”

Fitz explained how the acid had spilled over Dr. Dellenbaugh. They both walked back over to where he lay, still not moving. Simmons checked the man’s pulse.

“I think he’s dying,” she said.

“At least he’s not conscious for it. I can’t imagine anything more painful than this.” Fitz shuddered.

“You feel sorry for him?” Simmons asked. “Fitz, he was going to kill us!”

“Because he was afraid to die,” said Fitz. “It’s…it’s just all awful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Simmons. “Every bit of this is awful.”

She stood and put a comforting hand on Fitz’s shoulder, which stung a bit. That must have been where Dellenbaugh had injected him with the sedative, which had led to him collapsing and injuring his forehead. What a night.

 “At least we have your recording, though, as proof.”

“What, this?” Fitz pulled a crumple of wires and microchips from his inner coat pocket. “Nicked this from Dellenbaugh’s table on our way in. Not even sure what it’s for.”

“Wait you mean—” Simmons looked at Fitz as though she had never seen him before. “You made all of that up?”

“I had to think of something, didn’t I?” he said. “I thought I could maybe get you out, and if not at least distract him until I thought of something else.”

“That’s,” Simmons was still looking at him in the same way, like she had no idea who he was. It was unnerving. “That’s incredibly clever. Maybe they’re right about you.” She smiled.

Fitz felt himself blushing. “You’re the one who actually did the damage, though.” He gestured to the table. “Quick thinking, that.”

“We’re a good team. As ever,” she said. She seemed to be blushing, too, which Fitz didn’t really understand. He cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from her.

“We should probably go and get help.” He looked at Dellenbaugh’s still body. “What help there is.”


	8. Chapter 8

Fitz and Simmons left the claustrophobic lab and sounded the first alarm they could find. They ran to the front doors and told the security agents when they arrived where to find Dellenbaugh. Dr. Weaver arrived soon after and took charge. She had a medic look them over and patch up Fitz’s forehead and then ordered them wait in her office until she could come to them. An agent escorted them to Weaver’s office, and they collapsed on separate leather sofas the minute he closed the door.

A platter of cupcakes sat on Weaver’s desk, only one of which appeared to have been eaten.

“Do you think--?” asked Fitz, pointing toward the cupcakes.

“I don’t think she’ll begrudge you a cupcake when she hears what we’ve been through.”

Fitz raced over and devoured one and then reached for another. They were delicious and not too fancy. Basic, but good basic.

“I meant what I said before, Fitz,” said Simmons. She was stretched out on the couch with her eyes closed. “You were incredibly clever. You came up with that plan so quickly.”

“You sound surprised,” said Fitz, his mouth half full of cupcake.

“No,” she said. “Just impressed.”

Fitz couldn’t help but smile. One good thing had come from all of this, at least.

“I think you’ll make an excellent field agent.”

Fitz choked on his cupcake. “Err, what?”

“When we go into the field,” said Simmons. “I was thinking I would have to struggle to convince you, but surely you must see now how fun it will be.”

“Fun? You call anything that happened tonight _fun_?”

“No, not fun exactly.” Simmons opened her eyes and watched him. “But the field isn’t all like that. We’ll have a limited amount of danger I’m sure, but we will also get to travel and go on adventures. Most importantly we’ll need to think on our feet, which you’ve proven you can do.”

Fitz could not think of anything less enticing than “a limited amount of danger.”

“And I suppose if I don’t say yes, you’ll go without me, is that it?”

Simmons sat up. “Of course not, Fitz. That was never the plan.”

“What plan?”

“The plan I discussed with Dr. Weaver.”

“You two formulated a plan?”

Simmons stood and walked over to him. He thought she was going to touch him or…he wasn’t sure what, but then she reached passed him and picked up a cupcake.

“I was going to tell you. They came to me first, to ask if we’d go into the field. They thought you’d be the trickier one, so they asked if I could convince you.”

“They?”

“Dr. Weaver and Agent Coulson. He’s—”

“Dead. I’ve heard of him. He died working with the Avengers.”

“Apparently not,” said Simmons. She was licking icing off her fingers. “He asked us to be a part of his new team.”

“A team? Of what?”

“Ordinary people doing extraordinary things. He gave me a speech.” Her eyes twinkled. “It sounds perfect for us.”

“So, us. Both of us?” said Fitz.

Simmons looked confused. “Yes, Fitz. You don’t actually think I’d leave you?”

Fitz didn’t know what to think. “You said I would replace you, like you were leaving—”

“I was upset!” she said. “Over that stupid girl.” She stopped herself. “Forgive me. She’s not stupid. She’s not exactly at your level either, but—”

“You mean Abbie?”

Simmons put the rest of her cupcake on the desk. “Yes, _Abbie_.”

“Why do you always say her name like that?”

“Why do you always—”

“Anyway, she dumped me.”

Simmons stopped speaking.

“If you can dump someone before you’ve even dated them,” he said. “She called it off.”

“Oh,” said Simmons. “Why?”

“You,” he said.

There was a long silence. Finally, Simmons broke it.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be,” said Fitz. “I was sort of dreading it, honestly. The date.”

“You were?”

“I don’t really like her, not like that,” he said.

“Really?” Simmons sounded shocked.

Fitz shrugged. “I prefer brunettes.” That was all he could bring himself to say, but he was proud he had got that far.

“Anyway,” he said, “she’s not really at my level, so I’ve heard.”

“She’s really not,” said Simmons thoughtfully. She was gazing at him appraisingly with her head tilted a bit to the side. It was similar to the look she had given him earlier that had unnerved him.

Before he could start blushing, someone knocked at Weaver’s office door. The door opened, and a man stuck his head through.

“Dr. Weaver? I wanted to ask—”

The man’s expression brightened when he saw them, and he walked over. “Dr. Simmons, excellent. I was here to ask Dr. Weaver about you. And this must be Dr. Fitz?”

Fitz couldn’t shake the man’s extended hand. He was transfixed. This was the strange man in a suit he had stumbled across when he was ill. The man who had been sneaking out of the basement. This building’s basement.

Before he could squeak out a response, the man smiled. “We’ve met before. You didn’t look well. Sorry if I startled you.”

“This is Agent Coulson, Fitz,” said Simmons. “The man I was telling you about.”

“You were in the basement,” said Fitz.

“Yeah,” said Coulson, looking a little sheepish. “I was trying to win Weaver over with cupcakes. Snuck in to her office when she was gone. The security in this place is a little lax, isn’t it?” He looked over at the cupcake wrappers and crumbs. “I hope you liked them,” he said. “I can always make more!”

Fitz had a sudden vision of himself and Simmons travelling the world, having adventures, meeting interesting people, always with a cupcake in hand. He could get used to that.

“That won’t be necessary, sir, though they were delicious,” said Simmons. She chatted with Agent Coulson, but Fitz stopped paying attention. He was suddenly too overwhelmed with exhaustion and many, many thoughts.

After some minutes Coulson asked them to give Weaver his regards and went to the door.

“I hope to hear from you soon, Dr. Simmons. Dr. Fitz,” he nodded toward Fitz. Coulson paused in the doorway. “Helping people who can’t help themselves. That’s what I need your assistance with, Dr. Fitz. It’s as simple as that.” He left.

Simmons seemed to sense that Fitz wasn’t in a talking mood, and the two of them didn’t speak again until Weaver arrived. She informed them that, sadly, Dellenbaugh had passed away. They explained to her all the details of the last few days, from the attempts to harm Fitz (which they now knew were meant to lure him into a trap), to the revelations from Dellenbaugh’s own mouth. Weaver was not pleased that they had broken into the lab (“why didn’t you come to me straight away?”), but she seemed to forgive them when she heard that Dellebaugh had tied them up (“I never did trust that man. Always making coffee in the breakroom without using a filter. What kind of a monster does that?”).

When they had finished debriefing, Weaver sent them to their rooms. “Sleep,” she told them. “I’ll make excuses to your professors.”

Fitz could tell Simmons was about to protest missing class, but he quickly thanked Weaver and dragged Simmons out of the room. “Just this once,” he said, and to his surprise she did not argue.

They walked back to the dorms in silence. He stopped at the spot where they usually split to go their separate ways, but she continued walking past him toward his building. Ok, so she was coming to his place.

Once they were in his room she sat down on his bed.

“Jemma, I’m too tired to talk—” he started to say, but she held out a hand to him, calling him to her. He sat down beside her.

“Let’s just sleep, all right?” she said.

He was not about to argue. He lay down and was surprised when she lay down behind him, spooning him.

“Jemma?” she said.

“No. I’m Fitz.”

“You called me _Jemma_ ,” she said.

“Did I?” he asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t know why, but she sounded pleased.

“Ok,” he said.

He could feel her soft laughter on the back of his neck. “Good night, Fitz,” she said.

It was about 9 am, but he wasn’t going to correct her. “Good night.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him, and Fitz fell into the best sleep of his life.


	9. Chapter 9

It was almost dark when Fitz woke up, and he was disoriented. He heard Simmons shoosh him a little; he must have been groaning. “I’m here,” she said.

She was there, in his bed, which was even more disorienting, although also warm and wonderful. She had kept her word that she would stay, even though he had slept much longer than he had intended. She was lying beside him in his bed, reading a book. She reached over and ran her fingers through his hair, casually, as though this wasn’t the first time she had ever done such a thing. “Would you like dinner?” she asked.

They ended up at one of their favorite restaurants near the Academy, a Thai place. They talked and laughed just as they always did. Fitz was comforted by the normalcy of their friendship, the ease of it, especially after the last few days of death and deception. He felt other things, too, like a tiny bubble of hope inside him was being crushed, but he tamped those feelings down. What should he expect? Things were going back to normal, which meant that they were just friends. He had come to certain realizations over the last few days, but that didn’t mean that she had.

They were walking home (which was apparently his room now? He didn’t know why—hers was definitely tidier), when she grabbed his hand. He actually gasped, which he realized probably wasn’t very romantic or cool. He tried to relax, but he had absolutely no idea what was happening.

Simmons was playing with his fingers as they walked. “Want to watch some Dr. Who?” she asked. As far as foreplay went, so far this was ticking all the boxes for Fitz.

“Sure,” he said. Simmons smiled brightly, as though she had been nervous about what his response would be. Honestly, what kind of a man would tell a beautiful woman that no she couldn’t come back to his place to watch Dr. Who?

“It makes sense,” said Simmons.

“What does?”

“We’re compatible in every other way. It makes sense we’d be physically compatible, too.”

Fitz’s feet stopped moving. Simmons stopped beside him.

“Fitz?”

“I-I- _physically compatible_?”

“In the visions, we were…enjoying one another. In ways we don’t now. Perhaps we could try… some of that. And see what we think.” Simmons spoke haltingly, as though she were choosing her words carefully. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

“Oh,” said Fitz. “Ok.”

The smile that spilled across Simmons’ face lit up the night. “Excellent,” she said. She took his hand again and tugged it to get him moving.

They had been walking for another few minutes in silence, when Fitz said, “I don’t have the suit.”

“What?”

“The one you seemed to like, in the future. I don’t have a fancy suit, or the gun, or any of that stuff he had that made him cool. I’m not…I’m not that guy.”

Simmons said nothing for a few moments. “I prefer the cardigans,” she said finally, in a soft voice.

When Fitz didn’t respond, she squeezed his hand. “Fitz, I prefer you, just as you are.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” she said, with an exasperated sigh. She stopped and turned to him. “Do you know why I was angry before? After the first time you went into the machine?”

Fitz shook his head. This was one of the many things he didn’t understand.

“It took me a while to figure it out, why seeing that vision was so jarring. But I realized that every time I envision my future you’re there. Every time I think of something I’d like to do, somewhere I’d like to go, I think of you being with me. I can’t imagine a future without you. But there you were, doing well, even doing better without me. And it broke my heart.”

Simmons seemed to be drifting closer to him, still holding his hand.

“I don’t know who that man was,” she said, “and if that really is the future you then I’m sure he’ll be wonderful, too. But the man I’m amazed by, the man who just talked his way out of a life or death situation, who helped save my life, who I never want to be apart from, that man is you.”

This information needed digesting. They stood for a few moments in silence, before Fitz realized something. “ _If_ that is the future?” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Do you still not think we saw the future?”

Simmons shrugged. “We have no way of knowing until it happens.”

“But Dr. Dellenbaugh. He died just the way he said he would.” Fitz could still see the terrified look on the man’s face.

“True,” said Simmons. “But Coulson, he said he had never heard of a Mack, or a Hunter, or a Daisy, or a Yo-Yo. And he doesn’t know of a secret base in a hillside.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“When we were talking earlier. Weren’t you listening?”

Fitz had not been.

“The point is, we don’t know what the future holds. But we can still make our own choices,” she said. “And if we choose to work for Coulson, it doesn’t seem likely that we’ll meet any of those people. Coulson wasn’t even in your vision. I doubt any of it will happen. Well,” she paused and gave him a shy attempt at a flirtatious smile. “Except for maybe one thing.”

Fitz gulped and then leaned forward. Simmons seemed surprised, but only briefly. She met his lips with hers, and he could honestly say he had never imagined anything so wonderful. He pulled back quickly, still afraid that she might change her mind and punch him. She had that dazzling smile on her face.

“Ok,” he said.

“Ok?”

“Ok, I’ll go into the field with you.”

Simmons’ eyes grew large and excited, the way they did when they were given a particularly challenging homework assignment. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Fitz. “But not because of this.” He gestured to the two of them with their joined hands. “Not because of—whatever this is now. I’ll do it because I want to help people, like Coulson said.” Fitz thought of his mum. He thought of the scared little boy he used to be. He thought of the man he had become. He thought of Dellenbaugh.

“I think we could do some good out there in the world, you and me. We do make an excellent team,” he said. “And, for the record,” he took a deep breath, “I don’t want a future without you either.”

Simmons leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “It’s settled then,” she said. She patted the front of Fitz’s cardigan, a satisfied look on her face. They began walking again slowly, their entwined hands swinging gently between them.

“Had he heard of the Clairvoyant?”

“Who?”

“Coulson. Had he heard of the Clairvoyant Dellenbaugh mentioned?”

“No,” said Simmons. “But I doubt it matters. Dellenbaugh was insane; who knows what the man was saying. We should talk about the important things. We’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

“We do?

“Oh yes! So much to pack, and so many projects to complete. I was thinking—”

Simmons began to excitedly ramble about all the things she would want to bring into the field, and Fitz listened, trying to keep a grin off his face. He really didn’t know what his future held, but with her by his side he was no longer afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is only a short epilogue left. (We have to get back to the future at least a little!) I'll post it soon!


	10. Chapter 10

Epilogue

 

Fitz heard gentle laughter. He stepped around the corner and found Yo-Yo doubled over laughing, her silver hand on Mack’s shoulder. A broad grin lit up Mack’s face.

“Turbo,” he said. “Where you headed, buddy?”

Fitz held up a red beer helmet. “Putting this in the vault.”

Yo-Yo looked at it skeptically. “It doesn’t look that scary.”

“It is,” said Fitz. “If the wrong person used it…” Fitz trailed off, staring at the plastic hat.

“We’ve had enough trouble with time-travel as it is,” said Mack.

“Yes,” said Fitz and Yo-Yo in unison.

Fitz continued down the hallway.

“Put it where no one will ever find it,” Mack called after him.

Fitz took a steel elevator down many floors, and when the doors opened he saw a door labeled “Storage for Evil Stuff.” They really should stop letting Hunter name things.

 Fitz didn’t enter the vault but walked past it down a long corridor, opening the last door he came to. Jemma turned to look at him, her face glowing in the light coming from a large furnace.

“There you are. Did anyone see you?”

Fitz placed the helmet on the cart Jemma was pushing, which already held a black microwave.

“Mack and Yo-Yo. They were in the corridor above.”

“Aww,” said Jemma. “They do look happy, don’t they?”

Fitz walked to the furnace and opened the door. “I think he took my dating advice.”

“Mmhmm,” said Jemma. She had picked up the helmet and was inspecting the wiring inside. “Personally, I think it was all the work he did repairing her arms these last few weeks. Gave them a chance to talk.”

“I knew those mechanical cockroaches would come in handy. They had these components that I’d never seen before, but they corrected her reactions to speed tremendously.”

Jemma put the helmet down and ran a hand over the microwave. “Are you sure about this, Fitz?”

Fitz turned from the furnace and grabbed the cart. He pulled it the rest of the way to him. “We’ve discussed it, Jemma.”

“But the tech Dellenbaugh created is like nothing else we’ve seen. You just said yourself, those cockroaches were helpful. This machine could be, too. We’ve spent all these years searching for traces of where it ended up after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.—”

“And now that we have it,” Fitz picked up the helmet, “we destroy it. Dellenbaugh messed with things he shouldn’t have, and he paid the price. We know what happens when powerful technology ends up in the wrong hands.” He looked down at the plastic hat, at his own hands.

“Besides,” he smiled up at her, “I’m living the only future I ever wanted.”

Jemma moved to his side and kissed him. “Me, too.” She looked down at the helmet. “Do it.”

Fitz tossed the helmet into the furnace. He lifted the microwave and threw that in, too. He shut the furnace door as sparks began to fly, and they listened to the pops and crackles of the machine cooking. Fitz reached out without looking, and Jemma took his hand.

“At least one good thing came out of that machine,” she said.

“Oh yeah?”

“I knew to buy you a backup suit.”

Fitz gave a short laugh.

“Honestly, though,” she said, “I will be forever grateful to that man for this.” She squeezed his hand. “Can you imagine how long it may have taken us to get together if we hadn’t seen the future?”

Fitz shrugged. “We would have figured it out. We’re pretty smart.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Some things are inevitable,” she said.

Fitz put his arm around her, and they walked from the room together, closing the door on the fire behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your supportive comments and kudos! It means a lot to hear from you. I'm going to keep writing; hopefully I'll be able to post something else soon!

**Author's Note:**

> I have very little access to internet at the moment (six months in a very remote place!), but it's all written. I'll post more when I can! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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